


Operation: Pink Panther

by jennfics



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M, TIVA - Freeform, steamy but not smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 21:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3425795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennfics/pseuds/jennfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the writeworld prompt: "It never turns out as expected, does it?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operation: Pink Panther

“I don’t see why he gets to have all the fun and I’m always stuck in the van. With Gibbs,” McGee’s whining has reached a new low, even for him. “Plus it’s late, so you know he’s stopping for coffee.”

“McComplainsalot, are you saying Gibbs has coffee breath?” He hears Ziva’s snort through the comms, which only eggs him on. “I would have let you run this op but Ziva here is very particular about who she fake marries.” He has a clear view of the bathrooms from his perch at the bar. He takes the opportunity to glance over his shoulder in that direction just in time to see her emerge from the ladies’ room.

From stiletto heels up the expanse of tanned and toned leg to the short even for _Undercover David_ standard hemline of her slinky black dress, which has – now that he’s indulging himself in looking – practically see-through panels along the arms, stomach and back. Her hair is pulled to one side, curls cascading over her shoulder, and she’s wearing more make-up then he’s seen in a while. Not that he’s complaining, the opposite actually. He’s trying hard to push down the detailed image of Ziva stepping out from the en suite in his bedroom having just washed off her make-up – hair in a bun, boy shorts, and one strap of her tank top haphazardly trailing down her arm. He throws back the covers on what has become her side of the bed, and she climbs in with a contented little sigh. Pulling her close, he runs his nose along the line of her jaw and revels in the warm flush of her freshly scrubbed skin and the faint scent of soap.

Trying and failing.

Because he should not be imagining his partner climbing into his bed.

“Seriously guys, target’s on route. I’ve got him on a security cam in the hotel’s lobby.” Normally, he’d be aggravated by McGee’s interruption of his enjoyable if not inappropriate daydreaming. But tonight’s mission requires his full attention, and he silently thanks the probie for breaking his concentration.

“I’m heading back now, McGee. I suggest radio silence until the target is acquired. The bar is not as crowded as I would have liked.” There’s concern etching her voice, creeping its way in under her confident tone. He can hear it, but quickly decides against making a remark knowing there’s validation to her hesitance. This is the first mission since he took a bullet three months ago. Some nights, he still awakens from a fitful sleep to searing pain in his shoulder and her screaming his name. Just the memory of that sound, shrill and helpless, sends a shiver down his back as he straightens himself on the stool and awaits her approach.

The hotel bar is a seedy little joint that plays like a speakeasy-era porn fantasy come to life – a gruff barkeep, red leather stools, the smell of stale liquor and sweat in the air. The agents look their parts, of course. Ziva with flaming red lips and dangerously winged eyeliner; Tony’s hair a Brylcreem masterpiece, white bow tie and midnight blue silk-trimmed suit to match. She has to admit the broadness of his shoulders is accented well by the single breasted lines, and she can’t help admiring her partner’s polished handsomeness.

“You look like you just stepped out of one of those black and whites you love so much,” she teases. Invading his space with the swing on her hips, she saddles up to the bar and signals for a refill on her brandy. His sharp intake of breath at her intrusion brings a smirk to her lips.

The op is simple enough. A high-end jewelry thief has been using navy cargo ships to smuggle jewels, mostly uncut colored diamonds from a port in Singapore to Virginia. The team had been tracking his movement for weeks, finally pinning him to a pattern that included regular visits to this hotel. One call from Gibbs to a certain D.C. madam, and their jewel thief’s identity was made. Their job tonight is to infiltrate the hotel as a newly married couple on a cheap, albeit kitsch honeymoon.

Get it. Get an eye on the target. Get out.

“You are not to engage the target.” Gibbs’ stern warning to them before they left the bullpen this evening made clear. “We’ll move in with a task force once the two of you are out.” Tony had made a motion of protest, until Ziva’s hand landed squarely on his chest. There was a look in her eyes he couldn’t quite place, but between the warmth of her palm and slight pressure of her fingertips he decided it was better not to argue.

She could feel the heat of his gaze, but to his credit he refrained from touching her. The only problem being that married couples, especially newlyweds, don’t know the meaning of restraint. With that in mind, Ziva leaned her elbows against the bar and shifted her weight forward onto her bent knee. Arching her back allowed the natural shift of her backside to come in direct contact with Tony’s thigh. He chuckled close to her ear, a low and heavy sound that caused a tightness in her chest she wasn’t expecting. Her breath came out in a huff as his fingers combed through the wispy hairs at her nape before dancing along her spine until he was palming her ass. Leaning into his touch, she bit down on her lower lip as she turned to face him.

“I’ve got your man heading into the ballroom on your left. Better sell it guys.” At McGee’s suggestion, she raked her eyes over her partner taking her time to appreciate the man in front of her. When her gaze finally meets his, she’s surprised by how heavy lidded and tight jawed he appears. He’s pulling her closer in a matter of seconds, the hand on her ass moving to brace himself on the bar. His other arm has wrapped around her shoulders, fingers gripping tightly into the exposed flesh of her back. When his lips meet hers, she can feel the electricity humming between them.

As his tongue slips past her lips, she moans into his open mouth. His hand wanders from her back and tightens on her shoulder, and she places both her hands on his shoulders for balance. Unconsciously, her hips rise to meet his and he grinds into her in response. His kiss is intoxicating, and for just a moment she allows herself to give in. Loosening the grip she has on his shoulders, her arms wrap around his neck. She smiles into their kiss as she can hear his voice in her head, _watch the hair._

He nips at her bottom lip once, tugging gently. This is the moment where the aching need for him, to feel not think, to be Tony and Ziva not Special Agents DiNozzo and David, becomes overwhelming. One of her hands slides into the short hairs at the back of his neck, entwining tightly, and holding him tight to her. She lifts one leg to rest at the joint of his hip, and his hand moves to her thigh and holds her in place. Rocking together slowly, he breaks their kiss for a much needed breath.

His lips peck the corner of her mouth then graze her cheek. She’s panting in his ear, short and hot breaths fanning across his neck. When his mouth attaches to the spot at the base of her throat where her neck meets collarbone, she lets out a slow moan that causes Tony’s hips to buck hard. Her back aches from being pressed into the bar; but she has more important concerns, mainly the location of her wandering hand.

There’s a crackle over the comms, but they’re too distracted to notice. He continues to suck a path along her collarbone, teeth and tongue searing against her already heated flesh. Their heated exchange comes to an abrupt halt when his lips stall at the curve of her breast, just as her hand travelled a path down his body to cup him through his pants.

He pulls back from her swiftly, wide eyes finding hers. His fingertips are digging to the flesh of her thigh, but it’s the location of her hand that has him tilting his head to look down between their two bodies. He isn’t sure what he’s expecting from her; but his eyes fly to hers when instead of pulling away, she pushes the heel of her hand down and gives him a gentle squeeze. The curl of her lips is downright predatory.

He’s moving forward to claim her mouth again when a gun goes off from somewhere behind them. There’s a scramble on the comms, McGee shouting the shooter’s location as Gibbs orders them to take cover. She’s reaching for the gun concealed in her thigh holster as he pulls out his SIG.

“It never turns out as expected, does it?” He says with an exasperated sigh.

She only smiles and shakes her head. “I suppose not.”


End file.
